Begin Again
by ChaosOfAButterfly
Summary: Modern mental hospital au. Valhalla Correctional Facility. Where ex-military people go when they need mental help. Not the David Washington was ex-military. But they had taken pity on him after what Project Freelancer had done to him, and they had sent him there anyway. Now he was stuck here with some rather unique individuals. Bad sum. All RvB characters. Multiple pairings.
1. Valhalla

_ The only reason he even signed up for Project Freelancer was because they claimed to have specially chosen him._

_ He'd actually signed up to be in the Marines. But then he got this phone call from this group, Project Freelancer. They told him they were a Special Forces Unit. They told him that he'd met all their qualifications, so the Marines had sent his paperwork over to them. They'd told him that he was being given a special chance- the chance to make a great difference in the world._

_ They lied._

_ The irony of them telling him they were an undercover group to fight terrorists was not lost on him._

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><p>Wash stared blankly at the building. Valhalla Correctional Facility. It was a one-story, nondescript building. White washed. The only thing even remotely odd about it- ignoring the fact that it was in the middle of nowhere- was the large chain link fence that encircled it.<p>

"Come on." His…guards lead him forwards, heading towards the large iron gate- the only way into the building. Of course they didn't want to be standing outside- they were in New York, and it was fall, so it was only like 50 degrees out. Who would want to be outside in weather like that?

Wash didn't mind. He didn't really feel the cold anymore. Then again, he didn't really feel much of anything anymore.

His guards- why, if they'd decided he was innocent, did he have guards?- led him through the glass doors into a lobby-like area of the building. "Hullo." A bored, almost monotone voice said. The man who the voice belonged to was sitting at the only piece of furniture in the room- a large white desk, behind which was the chair he was perched on. "Welcome to Valhalla Correctional Facility." The name tag on the desk- which was covered in clutter, making the name tag hard to find-read Gary Colins.

"We're bringing in David Washington. You should have gotten a memo that we were coming a few days ago." One of the guards- the one on Wash's right- spoke.

"Washington…Washington…" Gary typed a few things on the computer before nodded. "He's here. I notified Flowers to come get you." He continued talking, but Wash didn't bother paying attention to what he was saying. Glancing around the room, he noted that there were two sets of doors- the glass one's they had come in, and another set of (locked) doors on the other end of the room. The wall adjacent to Gary's desk was a large window. The room was white washed, much like the exterior of the building, and the floor was tile. Everything felt clinical, sterile, and harsh.

By the time Wash had finished his inventory of the room, another man had joined them. He was tall, and well built, with close cropped dark hair. He was dressed in jeans and a white button up, and seemed amiable enough.

"I'm Butch Flowers. I run this place…or, co-run it, really, along with another guy who you can just call Sarge." He smiled at them. "If you just sign here" he held out a clipboard and a pen towards the guards' general direction, "saying that you did, in fact, drop David Washington off today, then you can be on your way." He smiled at them again, glancing between the two guards.

They glanced at each other, before one- the one that did all the talking- stepped forward, taking the clipboard out of Flowers' hands. "Just here, right?" He asked, signing the first line.

Flowers smiled at him again, taking the clipboard back. "Yup. Just there. You're done here now, so if you want to go, you can." He turned towards Washington, his smile softening. "If you could come with me, please, I'll take you into the facility." He reached out and grabbed Washington's wrist.

Before anyone could react, Washington had twisted both his and Flowers' arms, taking his own wrist back and going into a defensive position. Butch immediately threw his arms up in a pacifying gesture, stepping back and speaking in a calming voice. "Sorry, sorry." He smiled softly at Wash again. "Why don't you go first?" He asked, gesturing towards the door. Wash hesitated, not liking that Butch would be _behind_ him, before walking towards it. Butch followed immediately after him.

The doors lead to an open area with a couple plastic chairs, a screen, and what appeared to be racks of clothing. Butch stopped and looked at him apologetically. "Regulation rules. You can't wear anything from the outside in there. But you do get to pick what color your uniform is, because we just get sent all the uniforms from everywhere else. What's your favorite color?"

Wash stared at him for a moment before answering. "Grey." His voice was flat and emotionless- much like the color itself.

Flowers started, realizing he hadn't yet heard Wash's voice, and then nodded. "Okay. Grey. That should be easy enough." He walked over to the racks, going through them, before pulling out a hanger. "Here. Grey pants. Put these on" he gestured to where the screen was, motioning for Wash to go behind it, "and I'll look for a shirt and some shoes."

Wash took the grey pants- which were basic, loose, and cotton, with a yellow stripe on the side- and walked behind the screen. He handed Butch his pants and shoes- military regulation trousers and combat boots- taking the grey t-shirt that Butch handed him and pulling it on. He handed Butch his t-shirt- again, military regulation- and his cargo jacket.

Flowers deposited the clothes in a bin at the end of the clothing rack before leading Wash through another (previously locked) door, into what was probably the common area for everyone. There were several round tables (all completely rounded so there were no sharp edges), chairs- plastic, also with smooth edges- and a few board games were stacked up on a bookshelf along the wall. Two of the walls had windows- one covered in windows and a sliding glass door, which led out into the yard, the other littered with windows and basic doors. One of the others walls (the same wall as the door they came through was on) had a TV, which had a couch in front of it. The wall opposite of the one they were at had a doorway which led into a hallway full of rooms, and another doorway which led into what appeared to be the dining area.

Butch started into the room, Wash following close behind. "This is the common room. Everywhere you'd need to go and be gotten to from here. Through that doorway is the mess hall, bedrooms and bathrooms through here." He stopped at the other doors. "Through here are the doctors' offices and such." He glanced at Wash, hoping for some sort of reaction, but all he got was a nod. "Well Wash," he paused for a moment, before nodding to himself and continuing, "why don't we go let you meet everyone else?"

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><p><strong>AN: Sorry if Wash seems OOC, I'm kind of trying to write the type of Wash you'd see immediately after the Epsilon incident. Given he has PTSD, and other issues….**

** Italics means flashback. Or in the past. **

** This story is completely au from Red vs Blue. What Project Freelancer is in this story (as well as everyone else) will be explained in due time.**

** I didn't even want to finish it there, but there literally was no good place to cut off, so….**

** Please review?**


	2. Newbie

_It had seemed like such a good opportunity. _

_ Project Freelancer. A chance to make a difference in the world._

_ He'd immediately joined up- anyone in his position would have. It was a dream come true for guys like him- young, and painfully, optimistically naïve, just wanting to do right by people._

_ He'd known- if only subconsciously- that it was a little weird- what with the secrecy and the names that no one recognized- but he'd assumed it was because they were a Special Forces Unit. He hadn't bothered to question it. Most didn't. _

_ Those who did ended up like him. Like Connie. _

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><p>Flowers led Wash into a little meeting-doctor's office-library type room. It had bookshelves on every wall, and little mats spread out in a circle. Wash could just look around the room and know it was someone condescending who had designed it. Either that, or a kindergarten teacher.<p>

Most of the mats were occupied by people. Other patients, Wash assumed. Flowers immediately confirmed this. "Everyone, this is David Washington. He's new here, so please give him a warm welcome." There was a moment of awkward silence, and Wash was reminded of back when he was the new kid in school (he was _always_ the new kid).

"Hi there." The greeting- and the smile that accompanied it- came from a guy sitting on the floor across from the door. He had straight, long-ish blonde hair, a large, goofy grin, and was dressed entirely in pink.

Wash opted for silence as his response. It didn't deter the man. "My name's Franklin Delano Donut." Was raised an eyebrow, remaining silent. "You can call me Donut."

"Hello new person." The man sitting next to Donut- who was tall and broad, with shaggy black hair, wearing a dark cobalt blue- smiled at Wash. "My name is Caboose. Would you like to be my friend?"

The silence that followed was long, before another man- tall, with short, dark hair and pale skin- walked in from the door opposite them. "Hello." He smiled at Wash. "My name's Dr. James Delta. However, you can just call me Delta." Wash nodded at him. Delta continued. "Why don't you take a seat so we can begin? Thank you." The last comment was directed at Flowers, who smiled and nodded before leaving. Wash was overwhelmed by the amount everyone smiled here.

He sat down on one of the empty cushions- between an empty cushion and an a dark skinned, dark haired man who smirked at him as soon as he sat down.

"Alright. For David's sake, why don't we tell why we're here." Delta asked, sitting down two away from Wash, in another empty cushion. There was silence as everyone stared at each other, before a skinny guy with mousy brown hair and clothes in varying shades of purple spoke up.

"My name's Frank DuFresne. You can call me Doc. Everyone else does." _"That's cause they're all incompetent-"_ "Shut up!" Doc stopped talking for a moment, before running his fingers gently through his hair. "…that's O'Malley. He's quite violent at times." Doc paused for a moment before clarifying. "O'Malley takes over sometimes. He's like an evil alter ego or something." "_Because you-" _

"Alright, who's next?" Silence. Again. Delta sighed. "Okay. We're going in a circle and at the very least saying our names."

Donut sat next to Doc. Caboose next to him. Next to Caboose was an irritated looking man with a little bit of stubble, black-ish brown hair, and a light-greyish blue outfit, known as "Church. Leonard Church." (That was all he was willing to say).

The dark skinned man next to him turned out to be "Lavernius Tucker. And I'm here because I'm a sex fiend." He said that with a laugh and a smirk, letting everyone know just how seriously he wasn't taking this.

Next was Wash. He sighed. "My name's David Washington." He looked down at his hands, which were sitting folded in his lap.

On the other side of Delta was a brick wall of a guy, dressed in a combination of white, grey, and orange. With dark brown hair and scars around his neck and jaw, he was scarier than anyone else in the room. When he talked, it was hard to understand at first, coming off rough. "Conner Maine."

Next to Maine was a girl with long red hair- tied back- and a turquoise outfit. She looked distracted, before gaining a startlingly lucid look. "My name is Carolina Tracey. You don't need to know why I'm here."

The next person to speak was a tall, extremely thin- almost _too_ thin- man with short, reddish-brown hair and glasses. When he talked, his voice was light and hard to hear, and he sounded unsure of himself. "Richard- Dick- Simmons."

The guy next to him-the last guy- was laying down on the ground, and it was only at Delta's remark to him that he sat up. He was tan, but his skin had the sallow look of a drug user. He was underweight- as most drug users normally are- but not quite as much as Simmons. "My name is Dexter Griff. Don't call me Dexter. I'm here because I was dishonorably discharged from the army because of the use of recreational drugs. Basically- I'm an addict."

Delta smiled at everyone kindly. "Thank you all for sharing. Does anyone have anything they'd like to talk about?" When he was met with the sound of silence, he continued. "Everyone can go to the rec room now. David, if you'll please come into my office?"

Wash followed Delta through the door opposite them into his office. It was set up like all psychiatrists' offices; a large wooden desk, a chair on both sides, book shelves full of mental health books, and a couch. Delta gestured to the room. "Make yourself at home."

Wash sat down in the chair in front of the desk, Delta sitting opposite him. They stared at each other for a minute before Delta spoke. "David…." He stopped again, seeing the look on Wash's face. "What would you like to be called?"

"Wash." Wash spoke softly, not looking up from the floor. Delta nodded.

"Okay. Wash. Would you like to talk about what you went through?"

Wash shook his head.

"Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

Another head shake.

"How about you go get acquainted with everyone then?" Delta smiled at him, walking him over to the door. Wash nodded, leaving the office.

Delta sighed. This was definitely not going to be easy.

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><p><strong>AN: Okay….I officially am wicked excited for season 12. That being said, no characters post-season 10. That (unfortunately) means no Felix, no Kimball, and no Locus. Yes this story will feature Chex, Yorkalina, and Grimmons, as well as Donnut/Caboose friendship and Wash/someone.**

** Next chapter will have actual interactions, I promise. Also; I apologize if anyone ever seems OOC.**

** Now, for some clarification: O'Malley is like a split personality of Doc. Italics is O'Malley talking. This will be better explained later. **

** Random question….is North/Maine an acceptable pairing?**


	3. Induction

_Follow orders._

_Don't ask questions._

_Connie wasn't very good at either of those things. But Wash, well, he excelled at them. So the authorities assumed that he'd keep her in line, or rub off on her, or something. Or maybe they didn't care. Maybe that was part of the game to them; destroying other people with paranoia and conspiracies and fear. To see how people worked._

_She went down in a flash of fire and smoke._

_He just got burned._

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><p>Wash had never really been a people person. He'd been too clumsy- too awkward- to do well with people. Connie knew that. She took care of the people for him. While she was brusque, and sometimes even rude, she got shit done. And no one- <em>no one<em>- fucked with her. Or him, while he was with her. Cause, you know, if they did, she'd kill them.

He never really understood why she put up with him. She was, for lack of a better word, a badass. Wicked good with a knife, not too bad of a shot…she was great. She could have been leading missions. She should have been leading missions.

Maybe if she had she would have been able to keep herself alive long enough to see the demise of Project Freelancer herself.

The main problem with him relying on her for dealing with people is now she was gone and he was standing in a room full of people who were all patients at a mental facility (he supposed he didn't really have room to judge, given he was there too).

Mostly they ignored him.

Mostly they ignored each other, too, all going about doing their own thing.

A couple of them were talking- the dude in purple, with the voices (Doc, maybe?), and the one in pink (Donut?)- but for the most part, everyone seemed content to do their own thing. Which suited Wash just fine.

Of course, it couldn't last.

"So, what're you in for?" The man Wash had been sitting by before- Tucker, Wash was pretty sure his name was, the sex addict- plopped down on the couch next to where Wash was, sitting far too close for Wash's comfort. Wash scooted away slightly, but it didn't seem to deter the man. "Don't worry," he flashed a smile of too-white teeth- "I don't bite. Unless you're into that, I mean." He nudged Wash. "Bow chicka bow wow."

Wash flinched away from Tucker instinctively. Tucker frowned. "Aw, come on man, it was a joke."

"Tucker's bothering the new guuuyyyyyyyy." A voice proclaimed from their left. Wash turned, seeing the large man- Caboose?- to their side, frowning at Tucker. "You're not supposed to bother people Tucker."

Tucker sighed."Yes, Caboose, I am aware of that fact, though thank you for reminding me."

From the other side of the room someone stood up. "Tucker…" a new voice warned. Wash looked over, and discovered that the owner of the voice was a tall, broad, blonde haired man in a purple jacket and black pants. "Hello there." The man walked over to them, stopping by them and sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch. I'm John. John Dakota. You can just call me North, though." He smiled kindly at Wash, before raising an eyebrow at Tucker. "Tucker, leave the poor guy alone." Tucker sighed, before getting up and moving somewhere else in the room- Wash didn't see where. The blonde- North- smiled at him again. "I'm one of the helpers here. If you ever need anything, just ask, okay?" He nodded at Wash, before turning his attention to something happening behind him. "Simmons. Put that down!"

North got up, leaving Wash to stare blankly at the wall like he had before North had gotten there. Wash took the time to survey the room.

North had gone to talk to the thin man in maroon- Simmons, he had said. Another guard- _helper_, Wash's mind corrected, North had called himself a _helper_- was standing near the door. He had dark brown hair and a scar over one eye, and was wearing tan pants and a black t-shirt. He appeared to be not paying attention to anything but Wash could see how ever so often his eyes would focus on the girl in turquoise- Carolina, maybe?

The darker-skinned man in orange- Grif, the drug addict, Wash's mind supplied- was sprawled on the floor by the window.

Wash felt the couch shift again. Looking down at the other end, he saw the black-ish brown haired man- Church, maybe- sitting at the other end. Wash braced himself for questions, or talking, or _anything_, really, but it never came.

They spent the next hour sitting on either end of the couch in relative peace. Or at least, in physical peace. Neither knew that the other was trapped in their own mind.

Eventually, the doctor- Delta, Wash reminded himself- came out from his office. Connor Maine was called in. An hour later- exactly one hour, Wash kept track- Maine came out and Carolina Tracey was called in.

This pattern went on for four hours, at which point Wash was called in.

Wash sat himself back down across from Delta's desk, staring at the floor. There was silence, then Delta sighed. "Wash…you need to open up about what happened to you. I have the medical report, but…it could do you some good to talk about what happened."

Wash shook his head. Delta ran his fingers through his hair, shuffling in his seat. "Wash…"

Wash shrugged.

Delta paused, before trying a new topic. "Do you have nightmares, Wash?"

Wash's head whipped up, an incredulous expression on his face. He still refused to speak.

"Wash…please say something."

"_Something_." Wash couldn't help but mutter. Delta allowed himself a small smile at that.

"Wash, what you went through was a terribly traumatic experience. It would be completely normal to have-"

"_Normal_?" Wash scoffed. "Is it _normal_ for people to be completely betrayed by those who were supposed to be the people in authority? To be used and abused?" Wash glared, before deflating. "I don't even know what _normal_ means anymore."

Delta nodded. "That is to be expected. Wash…I'm not going to sit here and pretend that I have any idea what it was like to go through what you went through. However….I know someone who might, if you would be willing to talk to him."

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><p><strong>AN: Really short chapter…..but honestly I didn't know where else to cut it off. I'm not really sure where this story is going..**


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